


Break Fluid

by Hyliare



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Angst and Feels, Bisexuality, Canon-Typical Violence, Dysfunctional Family, Emetophobia, Genji POV, Heavy Drinking, Kissing, M/M, Minor Character Death, Omnic Racism, One Shot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Omnic Crisis, Sad with a Happy Ending, Young Genji, references to slavery, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 04:06:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7875541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyliare/pseuds/Hyliare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wrapped his fingers around his coffee. It was served in a glass mug with a gold base, delicate scrollwork on the chrome-dipped handle. The rest of the café, he looked up to find, had similar aesthetics. Delicate. Classy. Cute. But at the same time, modern. There was more pink than he would have guessed. Or maybe it was mauve? Some dusty color, anyway, that graced most of the fabrics and was echoed in a few pieces of art. It made absolutely no sense with the name. Break Fluid? It was like someone had thought up a pun at the last minute and was too delighted to not use it.</p><p>(An angst-y coffee shop AU, because I'm basically incapable of writing anything but angst. Inspired by art by ruffletea.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Break Fluid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ruffletea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruffletea/gifts).



> This was inspired by a piece of art by Ruffletea on tumblr. So, I wrote this instead of the next chapter of Module: Persona. Lol. (don't hurt me)
> 
> The art is here: http://ruffletea.tumblr.com/post/149487690056/just-your-local-playboy-hitting-on-the-cute-new

Hanamura was like a living, breathing thing. It was small and full of passion. On a good night, the streets would be powered up by flashing lights and drunken laughter, everyone’s blood pumping. Genji Shimada liked to keep his fingers on the pulse.

He could sense changes in the town almost before they happened. That bar was going to switch out their specials. That lounge was going to showcase a new pachinko game. That restaurant was going to close.

If it closed, what was going to replace it?

In the case of one particular run-down fried chicken restaurant, it was replaced by a 24-hour internet café, with the emphasis on _café_.

 

\--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--

 

Genji had ignored the café for over a week—he had a private Internet connection at home, and he didn’t care much for coffee or milk teas, so he didn’t see the point in going. There wasn’t even anyone interesting to talk to at an Internet café. They all just sat in their little rooms, paying by the hour for questionable entertainment. Maybe even by the _day_ , at a 24-hour joint. It was sad. What, would he chat someone up at the check-in counter? If the town was alive, then Internet cafés were sedatives. _Quaaludes_.

His tune was changed one morning by the arrival of a _monumental_ hangover.

Genji snorted awake, jerking his head up from a cold, hard surface and knocking into a glass bottle. He tried to catch it as it toppled over and only succeeded in swiping the thing clear off the table. It broke. He knew it broke, because the sound of it made his ears bleed.

“ _Fuck_.” Even a whisper grated too loud.

It was a bit of a gamble to open his eyes, but, as Genji was “no punk,” he did so. No blood. Too much light. Less vomit than expected. He closed them again as the world spun. There was someone on the other side of the table. He didn’t recognize them from the top of their head. He snuck his eyes open again, just a crack, to survey the damage on a wider scope. It was a familiar room. Some familiar people, some more he didn’t recognize. Many bottles, some expensive ones. An overturned tray with French fries scattered around it. A beach ball. Some blood. More light. The actual amount of vomit he’d expected. He rolled his cheek into the cool tabletop, avoiding any and all puddles. He felt a burp coming on and thought a short prayer—all clear. Still spinning.

“Ugh…”

A tap near his head made him jerk away again, the whole room flipping around for a fraction of a second. Another burp, less safe.

“Young Master.” _Bless_ baritones. Genji peered up into the face of his personal guard, Sean, then glanced down at what had made the _infernal_ noise. A fresh glass of water, and two little pills that Genji was hoping were a lot stronger than they looked.

They weren’t.

 

\--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--

 

Sean managed to move him from the private Winter Room of the Five Seasons Lounge to a waiting armored car, mostly by fireman’s carry.

In the backseat, Genji watched the lights of Hanamura roll slowly by, dimmed by the morning light. He saw new lights. He smacked the back of Sean’s seat and said, “Pull over, I want to check out that new café. Some coffee sounds pretty good right now.”

Or, he’d thought he’d said that.

Genji had actually grunted and said, “Cof.”

Sean pulled over anyway, because he was good at his job.

 

\--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--

 

Three minutes of riding in a car was apparently the amount of time Genji needed to recover _just_ enough to walk of his own volition. He barely used Sean’s arm at all, as they made their way from the street to the door of _Break Fluid_. Sean did the honor of opening the door. Then he walked Genji to the counter, deposited him on a low-backed stool, and left—presumably either to wait in the car, or in the corner of the room. Genji really didn’t care. He perched his elbows on the fake-marble countertop and buried his face in his hands, groaning. He already regretted his impulse decision. The smell of the place, at least, was a lot closer to “ _pâtisserie_ with a side of _eau du café”_ than the usual sour milk odor the last Internet café in Hanamura had sported. That was going in the _pros_ column.

Genji rocked his face at a glacial crawl, palming hard at his sinuses with each cycle. Every time he went from left to right: coffee. Right to left: coffee. There was a _reason_ he’d come inside.

“Hello, sir. How are you this afternoon?”

A number of things occurred to Genji, in order. First, it was apparently afternoon, not morning. Not surprising. Second, the voice sounded genuine, and genuinely _concerned_. Very surprising. Third, he was _terrible_ , thanks.

“Ah. I’m sorry to hear that, sir. Is there anything I could do to help you?”

It was a pretty nice voice. Not as deep as his bodyguard’s but not annoying. It had some kind of undercurrent to it, almost like a harmony. Oddly pleasant.

Genji managed to ask for coffee, black, one sugar, without lifting up his head.

“Of course, sir.”

Soft sounds followed. The quiet crunch of grounds being scooped (fragrant, ground fresh, probably in the actual morning), the gurgle and hiss of boiled water being poured, the meagre squeak of…a French press? The shake of sugar. A cup rasped over the counter and came to rest under his nose. It smelled good. It smelled like _home_ , inexplicably. He wasn’t sure either of his parents had ever even _seen_ coffee, but there it was.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?”

“Rub my back?” Genji laughed like he’d spent the morning gargling thumbtacks. He stopped abruptly when he felt a hand on his back. Two hands, with a firm touch. They moved in clockwise and counterclockwise circles, perfectly in time. They ran down the line of his vertebrae. Back to the circles. Genji uncovered his face to stare at his reflection in his dark coffee.

 _Wow_.

He really looked like Hell.

It was probably a good thing the barista hadn’t seen his face—but on the other hand (the nice massaging hand), Genji was 80 to 90 per cent sure he had the only green hair in Hanamura. It wasn’t exactly a secret who he was. As a Shimada, he could probably have walked in covered in blood and gotten the same royal treatment.

The _sincerity_ , though…

He wrapped his fingers around his coffee. It was served in a glass mug with a gold base, delicate scrollwork on the chrome-dipped handle. The rest of the café, he looked up to find, had similar aesthetics. Delicate. Classy. _Cute_. But at the same time, _modern_. There was more pink than he would have guessed. Or maybe it was mauve? Some dusty color, anyway, that graced most of the fabrics and was echoed in a few pieces of art. It made absolutely no sense with the name. _Break Fluid?_ It was like someone had thought up a pun at the last minute and was too delighted to not use it. It sounded more like something you’d use for a diner. At least for someplace with booths made out of chopped up hotrods.

“Is the drink to your liking, sir? I recognize you are a new customer.”

“Hm? Oh.” Genji took a small sip, to be polite. Then another, because he wanted to. “It’s real good. Best I’ve ever had.” Which probably only amounted to coffee from three or four different places, but the server didn’t have to know that.

“I’m glad!” Even in excitement, the voice stayed mercifully quiet.

The back rub came to an end when Genji was three sips and one long drink deep. It was a shame, but understandable. He was using his free hand to itch his forehead near the edge of his visor when the barista rounded the counter and came back into view. He was in a brown apron with the café’s logo on the chest, pretty tall, bald, a square of nine blue lights on his forehead, made of metal.

Genji blinked. “Uh.” He looked to his left. There was another omnic at the register, checking people into rooms for Internet usage. Over the barista’s shoulder, he could see an omnic in the kitchen. To his right, an omnic was sweeping the floor. He looked forward again.

“This is an omnic café?”

Brilliant. Astute.

The barista wilted a little, and Genji bit his cheek. “Er. Yes. That is to say, the café is staffed by omnics. The owner is human! He works on Tuesdays, if you would like to file a complaint—”

“I don’t want to file a complaint. Can I file a compliment?”

Genji didn’t know if metal could blush, but the barista certainly seemed to be giving it his all. He waved his hands, flustered, and said, “no!”

But he’d said it too quickly, apparently, because then he tilted his head with a, “Well, maybe? I…Hm.”

Genji grinned. “It might get you a raise!”

Still lost in thought, the omnic waved Genji off. “No, we aren’t paid.”

It took a moment for that to register, for both of them.

“I mean, we don’t—” “—You aren’t _paid?_ ”

“Oh, dear. I’m not supposed to say that.”

“Isn’t that _illegal?_ ”

“It isn’t illegal, no. But it does upset some customers…My apologies.” The omnic took a step back and bowed to him, faceplate almost touching the counter.

Genji pressed on, honestly curious. “How is that not illegal?”

“We are compensated in other fashions, I assure you.”

“That doesn’t sound like a practiced response at all.”

“Oh, good!”

“…Uhm. I was being sarcastic.”

The barista wilted again, and Genji resisted the urge to try to snatch his words back from a previous panel in the slice-of-life comic that was apparently his life. “Sorry! Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, okay? I’ve never been served by an omnic before. Hanamura is…sort of old-fashioned, in some ways. I don’t know how it works.”

“You did not…er. It is fine, sir. I accept your apology.”

“Good.” He sat back against suede padding on the bar stool and went back to sipping his coffee. The café was hardly spinning at all, at that point. It was turning into a pretty good morning.

Or afternoon. Whatever.

 

\--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--

 

The next time he went to Break Fluid, it was on a date.

It would probably be more accurate to call it an _interest meeting_ , though. The barest effort to turn an anonymous one-night stand instead into an extremely casual relationship. He bought his date a cup of coffee and a mound of donuts and they shot the breeze. The timer on Genji’s phone was set for 35 minutes.

Everything was going well for the first 30. She was cute, with long hair and a button nose. She was studying to be a dentist, or something. She liked cats…or was it ferrets?

And then she’d glanced over to the counter, finger to her lips. “It’s a little bit creepy, don’t you think?”

“Huh?”

“They’re so quiet. They’re like moving statues. I always feel like they’re listening in, or watching us. It’s just a bit creepy.”

Genji had followed her gaze to the barista, who was carefully shining the glass mugs.

“They don’t even have real _eyes_. What’s it looking at?”

“…Probably that mug.”

“Haha! Yeah, I guess. Maybe.”

She talked for three more minutes while Genji finished his flat white. The timer went off. She looked at it and smiled in a way that might have looked coy when they first sat down, but in that moment struck Genji as lecherous.

“Are you ready to go?”

“I think I’m still thirsty, actually. Sean will take you home.”

The woman didn’t have time to look surprised. She was out the door before Genji reached the counter.

“Could I get another?”

The omnic only looked up (or tilted his head, at least) when spoken to. “Of course, sir. For your friend, as well?”

“No. She left.” He sat down in the stool directly across from the omnic.

When he got the next drink, the milk had been poured into an artful heart-shaped leaf.

 

\--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--

 

Genji penciled it into his schedule to go to Break Fluid every Thursday (by which he obviously meant he had Sean type it into his schedule to take Genji to Break Fluid every Thursday). It was a weird enough day of the week that the café was slow. If he went at the right time, he hardly saw anyone else. That was a comfort. He didn’t really like being stared at when he wasn’t specifically showing off.

It also meant that, most of the time, he got the barista to himself.

“So, you have a name, right?”

Said barista was pulling a shot of espresso. He waited until it was complete to look over his shoulder. “Yes, of course. Do you?”

“Pft. Like you don’t know it.”

The omnic turned his body around to match his neck, cocking his head to the side. “I do not. Is it a common name? Is it easy to guess? …Ichiro?”

“…Ah.”

“Oh. I see. You are well-known in Hanamura. I apologize.” There was that low bow again. “We were not briefed on local celebrities.”

“I don’t know if I’d use the word _celebrity_ …”

“My name is Zenyatta.”

“…I’m Genji.”

“It is very nice to meet you, Mr. Genji.”

“Just ‘Genji’ is fine, Zenyatta.”

“Your status is why people look at you?”

“Heh. Yeah. Did you think there was another reason?”

“Your hair is very striking. I like it.”

He wasn’t going to blush. He _wasn’t_. “Thank you.”

 

\--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--

 

“Were you born in Japan?”

“No, I was… _born_ in Russia.”

“How many languages do you speak, then?”

“All of them.”

Genji did a short double-take, straw still in the corner of his lips. “ _Aw’ve fem_?”

“All that have been digitized, yes.”

“You’re talented!”

“Well, I was born knowing them...Most feel that cheapens the ‘talent.’”

“Maybe the words, yeah, but you had to learn the other stuff! Slang’s always evolving, right? And…what’re they called…idioms! You can’t get all of that from a dictionary.”

“That’s true…”

“So: talented. How old are you?”

“Eight.”

“Wh—Get out of here! What’s that in omnic years?”

“…It’s eight. Eight years?”

“Haha! Well, I mean…I guess you’re an adult when you’re born, right? So call that 18. That would make you the human equivalent of 26 now.” Genji grinned wider. “Older than me. Makes sense, since you’re bald and all.”

“I am _not_ bald…I have a shined head.”

“Ahahaha!”

 

\--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--

 

He stopped bringing dates to Break Fluid.

“Did they build you to make coffee?”

“Oh, no. My model can be trained to perform a number of different tasks. I was simply acquired by a restauranteur.”

“Is there any pattern to it?”

“…There is some, yes. Many omnics of my model serve in artistic roles. Some are teachers. I think I would have enjoyed being a teacher.”

“You still could be, right? You’ll live a lot longer than eight years.”

“It’s…not impossible.”

“What were you doing before this?”

“For seven years, I made salads.”

“Yeah?”

“Fruit salads, mostly, but some leafy salads.”

“Oh, _fruit_ salads. That’s not surprising.”

Zenyatta tilted his head.

“Because you’re so sweet!”

 

\--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--

 

He stopped going on dates.

“You don’t have a mouth, right?”

Zenyatta pointed to the seam on his faceplate.

“No stomach, I mean.”

“Ah. Yes, that is correct.”

“If you did, which thing on the menu would you want to try the most?”

“…”

“Like, would you want coffee, or—”

“I am thinking.”

When Genji was swiping his card to pay, Zenyatta finally spoke up again: “The kiwi-mikan jelly roll.”

“Why?”

“…I think it looks the best.”

Genji canceled his payment and ordered a slice, and did his best to describe how the sour, sweet, crunchy, soft, creamy cake melted in his mouth.

 

\--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--

 

His weekly trips became semi-weekly. Then demi-weekly.

“The Shimada Clan aren’t like celebrities. We’re more like supervillains. People know who we are because it’s dangerous not to; they’re scared of us.”

“You do not seem villainous to me.”

“…I don’t want to be a villain. I just want to have a good time.” He put his chin in his hand, smirking. “And I _always_ have a good time when I’m with _you_ , Zenyatta.”

 

\--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--

 

Every day, he had Sean take him to Break Fluid right after his physical training. Some days he barely got to see Zenyatta, for the crowd—it split for him, always, but he couldn’t jeopardize the barista’s time. Some days he had to call ahead and pick up a waiting to-go cup. His name would always be written on the side in a minimum of three languages, along with a poem, or a drawing, or, occasionally, a riddle. Some days it was like Thursday (some days it _was_ Thursday), and they could sit and talk for hours.

One day, it started to fall apart.

One day, Hanzo decided to accompany him.

It was a Thursday, it was _their_ day, and Hanzo decided to invite himself into the armored car, behind Sean’s seat, to Hanamura’s Internet café. He wanted to see what made it so interesting. The coffee, he had said, must be _exquisite_ , because Genji was spending an inordinate amount of money on the stuff. Be careful, brother, he had said, caffeine addiction was an exploitable weakness.

They sat in a booth and drank coffee. Genji ate a pastry that turned to sand in his mouth. Hanzo mapped the place out with a sweeping gaze. He didn’t spend very long on Zenyatta or the other workers.

When they arrived home, Genji sliced a roomful of training dummies into ribbons.

 

\--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--

 

He waited until the following Thursday to go again. Zenyatta watched him from through the window all the way to where he sat at the counter, in his usual stool.

“Sorry,” he started, “something happened with my family.”

Zenyatta looked down at the rag in his hand, metal fingers plucking softly at its messy hem.

“I didn’t want to stay away, I just…To be _safe_ …”

The omnic looked up at him, and despite his faceplate having the exact same planes, markings, and lights on it as it had the first day they’d met, it struck Genji not as welcoming or eager to serve, but as crestfallen.

“I thought you would never come back.”

He came back the next day, and the day after that, too.

 

\--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--

 

 “I’ve been reading…Have you ever heard of the Shambali?”

“Are they another clan?”

Genji shook his head. “There’s this _monk_ …an omnic monk. He believes that omnics have souls, and he advocates for equality. Socially, legally. He thinks you shouldn’t work for free.”

“We _are_ compensated—”

“He thinks you shouldn’t work for a closet to sleep in and a charging mat, either.”

Zenyatta kept his eyes on the milk he was steaming.

“…He thinks you should have freedom, that you should be able to do whatever you want.”

The steaming machine hissed and went quiet. “What do _you_ think, Genji?”

Genji met Zenyatta’s stare. Something washed over him, some feeling. Maybe, hope?

“…I agree with him.”

 

\--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--

 

The next day, Zenyatta started speaking before he even reached the counter. “You were correct, Genji. I should not have doubted you.”

“Eh?”

“Your father is unpleasant.”

“He came here in _person?_ ”

“He sat just there, where you’re sitting.

“Ugh! What did he say to you?”

“Well, he did not respond when I asked him how he was, he merely gave me his order. Then, he did not say ‘thank you’ when he _received_ his order. He did smile throughout the interaction, but to be entirely honest, his smile did not make me feel any better at all. It made me feel worse.”

“He has that effect on people. So, he didn’t ask you anything? Tell you anything but his name?”

“Oh, he did not introduce himself. He had two bodyguards, and the resemblance between you is uncanny. I made an assumption. Was it not him?”

“…No, it was. He just…ordered a coffee and left?”

“Yes. Villainously.”

When Genji didn’t smile, Zenyatta drew back. “Ah…You seem concerned about his visit.”

“It…might be nothing.”

Of course, it wasn’t. His weakness was eventually exploited.

 

\--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--

 

Genji watched his father lift his cup slow, the logo clearly—purposefully—visible, and take a drink. Genji swallowed. “…You aren’t going to do anything about it?”

“Why would I do anything about it?”

“You’ve never approved of my flirting before.”

“ _Hm_. This is not approval, Genji. This is indifference. You are not flirting with some nameless stranger on the streets, or an outsider. You are flirting with a _machine_. Should I be worried about expressing disapproval when you say ‘thank you’ to the voice in your mobile phone? When you were a boy, you expressed an interest in marrying the heroine of some animated film. I was more concerned by _that_. This? I see no reason to care, Genji. You will grow tired of this machine, and you will realize your foolishness. The inanity of _flirting_ with something programmed to please you. Something with neither heart nor soul, nor any value beyond its directive.” He sipped from the cup again. “…It _is_ rather good at it. I suppose perfection is more achievable when you serve a single purpose in life.”

A smile appeared that turned Genji’s blood hot.

“I will see that it is made a gift to you when the store closes, instead of being shipped away…if you are an obedient son.”

“… _Thank_ you, father.”

 

\--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--

 

The next Thursday, while Genji drank iced lattes and nibbled on shortbread, his father died of a massive heart attack.

Hanzo moved seamlessly into the void.

“It is time for you to _grow up_ , Genji. Your perpetual adolescence is no longer simply an embarrassment, it is a _detriment_. I will not have you sully the name of the Shimada for your ‘good times.’ You will learn to lead. You will learn to _live_ as your birthright.”

“Or _what?_ Who cares what happens to _the clan_ , brother? It has outlived itself. It’s nothing but an empire of _criminals_ hiding behind one another’s coattails. _Villains_. It would be better off _sullied_.” He spat out every other word, watching his brother’s flushed face— _he’d been drinking_ —flush darker.

“You will _learn_ , or you will be _punished_.”

“Ha! Go on, punish me! What are you going to do, Hanzo?”

Genji watched his brother shove himself violently off his knees, swaying only slightly as he got to his feet and stared Genji down. Silence stretched between them.

“I am going to kill that omnic.”

He sat frozen in place, only his head moving as it tracked Hanzo from the front of the hall to the exit, turning until his neck ached. Something popped and Genji was on his feet, sword drawn. “ _No_.”

“…You draw your weapon on the eldest son? Over a piece of metal? Genji. Look at yourself. Look at what you have become. This weakness that has grown inside of you. What happened, Genji?”

“Do not move.”

Hanzo moved. He stepped forward, feet sliding into a lazy but threatening stance. “Do you think that I would kill it myself? That I would bother with something so insignificant? Do you think the order has not already been given to the merest of underlings?”

Genji’s arms wavered. “ _Brother_.”

“Do not call me ‘ _brother_.’ You are no brother to me.”

His arms dropped. “Brother, _please_.”

Hanzo moved again, stepped close and closer until he stopped at Genji’s shoulder. His voice was dangerously low. “Go on. Leave this place. Perhaps, if you go quickly, there will be a piece of scrap for you to bury.”

Genji sheathed his sword. He steeled himself to the words.

“And perhaps, if you go quickly, you will have time enough to bury it before I kill you, too.”

 

\--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--

 

At a sprint, it took seventeen minutes to reach Break Fluid. The café was dark—it was never dark. That was the point of a 24-hour café. It was _never_ dark.

Genji wrenched the glass door open. It wasn’t locked, it didn’t have a lock _on_ it. He stepped over something. It was the cleaner. The lights on their faceplate were blinking orange. They blinked red once. They winked out. The cashier omnic was slumped over the register. Genji had never learned her name. He rushed the counter. It was clean, the floor behind it was clean. He vaulted over it from a standstill and pushed into the kitchen. The baker omnic was shaking in minor convulsions on the floor, sparks flying from its snapped neck.

There was a dry splash of flour on the floor, foot prints in it.

Genji tore through the cramped space, following the mess to the walk-in cooler. He opened the door.

“ _Zenyatta_.”

“G-Gen… _Gen_ -j-..Gen _ji_ …”

Red. There was red _everywhere_.

“ _Gen_ -jii- _ji_ …”

The red had come from the body at Zenyatta’s feet. Genji’s eyes followed the pool from those feet to the stained apron, to the knife gripped in both his hands, one on the handle, one wrapped around the blade. His blood-spattered faceplate. It was dented at the temple.

“…Zenyatta.”

The knife clattered to the ground but the clatter was covered almost immediately by a sick weeping, a shuddering sound that loped between unfamiliar pitches. Zenyatta covered his face and stumbled farther back between the shelves of pastry and fruit. Genji followed, grabbing for a metal arm.

“We have to _go_.”

When he caught hold, Zenyatta didn’t struggle. Genji led him out of the walk-in, out toward the back of the kitchen. Zenyatta’s garbled voice was trying its best to surmount words, strange words. Multisyllabic, foreign. They spilled out in a repeating pattern.

Genji got him into the back seat of their getaway car. Sean said nothing, but threw back wet wipes and a towel as he drove them to the second nearest airport at far above the posted speed limit. Zenyatta’s injured head was tucked into Genji’s neck, his mantra still persisting.

Names, Genji realized, too late.

They were names.

 

\--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--

 

Hanamura had been small and full of passion. Nepal was large and full of peace.

The Shambali had welcomed them with open arms. They repaired Zenyatta’s head, they named him _Tekhartha_ , they gave him fresh clothing and a safe place to rest.

Genji, they were only a bit less sure of.

Tekhartha Mondatta sat across from him, gleaming white and silent. He had asked what happened to damage Zenyatta’s body and, more importantly, his soul. Genji had told him. Then he had requested a bedroll in Zenyatta’s room, instead of a space of his own. It was granted.

He was there now, laying himself carefully down. Zenyatta was sitting, legs crossed, in the center of the room. Genji was just close enough that he could touch a robed knee, if he wanted to. He did want to, but he wasn’t sure it would help, so he didn’t.

Zenyatta took a deep breath. “Did you tell them that I killed a human?”

“Yes.”

“Are they going to send me back?”

“No.”

“Are you going to go back?”

“No.”

“Where are you going to go?”

Genji did reach his hand out, then, and placed it on the white silk that covered Zenyatta’s knee.

“Nowhere.”

“Why?”

“I think staying here sounds the best, because _I always have a good time with you_.”

“Genji…”

“I’m sorry, Zenyatta. I’m so sorry.” He squeezed the metal kneecap through the silk, feeling it shift slightly. “This never would have happened if I’d never—”

“I would kill one hundred villains for you, Genji.” The air in Nepal was cold and thin.

“…You shouldn’t have to kill a single one.” He felt like he was choking.

“I know. No one should.” A large hand covered his own. “But I would.”

“You won’t have to. I’ll protect us. I’ll protect you. _I_ will do the killing. _I’ll_ …” His voice broke.

“You should rest.” He hadn’t slept since they’d left Hanamura. Since before that. Since his father…

“I will watch over you. You can protect us in the morning.” He scrambled for a better hold on the shining fabric, his second hand reaching out, straining for contact. Zenyatta caught it and weaved their fingers together. He uncrossed his legs and took Genji’s first hand, too. Then he walked closer on his knees. Carefully, Zenyatta arranged himself alongside Genji on the bedroll.

Their faces were close. Genji nudged inward, until his visor met Zenyatta’s forehead with a quiet _clack_. He reached up, both hands still tangled in Zenyatta’s, to push it up and over his hair. It fell off behind them. He leaned in again.

“My brother may follow us. He’s become a villain.”

“Then you will become a hero…Whatever that will mean.”

“I can’t kill him.”

“Then it will not mean killing him.”

He gasped in a breath, swallowed it hard, and gasped again, more shallowly. Zenyatta began to hum. Hum, and pause. Hum, and pause. Genji breathed in time with that until he felt he could relax. He sighed, soft.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, Genji, with all of my soul.”

One of them, both of them, closed the distance. Genji’s brow touched metal, warm, not cold. His cheek slid along the smooth line of Zenyatta’s cheek. His lips touched the seam of Zenyatta’s mouth.

Zenyatta hummed again, but he didn’t pause. Genji didn’t stop, either. Not until he fell asleep.

 

 


End file.
